| The characters of Combat!...yadda, yadda, yadda. Copyright 2004 by Eagle Lady. We’re Goin’ to Paris! Lieutenant Hanley stepped out of the building he was using for a HQ and looked around. “Hey, Braddock! Find Saunders for me, will you?” “Yes, sir.” A few minutes later, Saunders came in, helmet under his arm, Thompson slung over his shoulder. “What’s up, Lieutenant?” “I’m sending you to Paris.” The long silence made Hanley look up from the paperwork in front of him. Saunders was staring at him warily. “I don’t think I heard you right, Lieutenant.” “What did you hear?” “I thought you said you were sending me to Paris.” “You heard right.” “Why?” “General Maxwell wants to talk to you about those infiltrators you caught last week.” “What’s wrong with the phone?” Hanley leaned back in his chair and grinned at the sergeant. “You don’t want to go to Paris?” “Now, I didn’t say that.” Saunders grinned back. “That’s what I thought. He wants to see you ASAP, so find yourself a jeep and get going. You can take Caje along if you want.” “There’s a jeep right outside.” Saunders smiled slyly. “Fine. Wait a minute, that’s MY jeep, Sergeant!” He sat upright in his chair. “Knew I’d seen it somewhere.” Saunders chuckled, pleased to get a rise out of his lieutenant. “Very funny, Saunders. Find Caje and get out of here.” “Yes, sir.” Saunders started away. “And wipe that grin off your face.” “Yes, sir.” Saunders gave him a mocking salute and sauntered out. Hanley watched him go, laughing quietly as he returned to his paperwork. “Hey, Caje! Saddle up!” “Okay.” Grabbing his gear, Caje caught up with Saunders in a few steps. “Where we going this time?” “Paris.” He said casually, waiting for the reaction. “On foot?” Caje asked nonchalantly, knowing that Saunders was expecting a different reaction. “Got a problem with that, do you?” Saunders fought hard to keep the grin off his face. “Nope. I’m just afraid the war might be over by the time we get there.” “You’re right.” Saunders pretended to think. “Maybe you better scrounge up a jeep while I get my stuff.” “Sure. I’ll meet you at the well.” As Caje trotted away, Saunders grinned. The well was in plain view of everyone in the area, and Caje knew it. A few minutes later, Saunders tossed his bag in the back of the jeep and climbed in beside his friend. With a jaunty wave, Caje drove off in a plume of dust. Knowing Caje was as tired as he was, Saunders insisted on changing drivers after two hours. When it was time to change again, he hadn’t the heart to wake the soundly sleeping soldier beside him, so he kept driving. By the time they reached Paris, his body was exhausted, but his mind was alert and excited. He shook Caje awake just before they reached General Maxwell’s HQ. “Wakey, wakey, Caje. This is Paris.” “Sarge, why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Caje straightened quickly. “You needed the sleep.” Saunders shrugged. “And you didn’t?” Caje stared at him. “I wasn’t sleepy. Come on.” Saunders parked the jeep and hopped out, heading for the steps. Having second thoughts about leaving his gear in the jeep, he swung around to find Caje already loaded down with his own pack as well as Saunders’. “Thanks.” He led the way inside and stopped at a desk with a very pretty young female Army clerk sitting behind it, typing. “Hi. Sergeant Saunders. I’m looking for General Maxwell.” “Hello, Sergeant. He’s been waiting for you. He’s at the Officer’s Mess having dinner. He said for you to join him as soon as you got here. You can leave your stuff here, if you like.” She smiled. “Thanks. Where is the Officer’s Mess?” “Two blocks down on the left corner.” Caje dropped their packs in the corner by the desk and followed Saunders back outside. Caje started down the street, stopping when he realized Saunders wasn’t with him. He looked back just as the sergeant joined him. “Thought it might be a good idea to take the spark plugs. It’s a long walk back.” “Good idea.” They were at the doorway to the Officer’s Mess before either realized they still had their weapons and helmets. “We’ll take ‘em with us. He’s in a hurry, Hanley said.” “Will they even let us in here?” “If not, they have to explain to the General, not me. Come on, soldier.” They stopped in the doorway; Caje staring while Saunders looked around for the General. Gradually, all talk stopped as the officers stared at the two grubby, tired soldiers, their weapons slung over their shoulders, their battered helmets tipped back on their heads. “Sergeant Saunders?” A voice called from somewhere in the room. “Yes, sir.” Looking around, he finally spotted the General waving to them. Figures that he would be on the far side of the room. Hitching his Thompson higher on his shoulder, he started through the room, Caje on his heels. They reached the table and saluted. The General returned the salute and motioned to the chairs as the conversation in the room gradually resumed. “Sit down, Sergeant, Private. Are you hungry? Stupid question.” He called a waiter over and ordered two steak dinners and two beers. “You wanted to talk to me, sir?” Saunders asked, removing his helmet. “Yes. Put your guns under the table.” He waited while the two men slid their weapons under the table, along with their helmets. “You made good time.” “Yes, sir. The roads were pretty clear.” Despite the difference in rank, and appearance, both men appeared to be at ease. “How long have you been in France, Sergeant?” “Since D-Day, sir.” “Private?” “Yes, sir?” “How long have you been in France?” “Since D-Day, sir.” “Where are you from, Saunders?” “Illinois, sir.” “Here come your meals, men. Dig in.” The two men stared at the plates set in front of them. Thick steaks took up most of the plate, with a mound of mashed potatoes and gravy, and a pile of vegetables taking up the rest of the plate. A smaller plate with slices of fresh white bread and butter was also set in front of them. Thinking of the rest of the men eating K-rations, they slowly began eating. Used to eating smaller amounts whenever they got time, neither could eat much, though they enjoyed the beer. When they pushed their plates away, the General offered each a cigarette, lighting them for the men. “I read your report, Sergeant Saunders. Very concise. Now I want details. Private, if you wish, you may go find something more…entertaining.” It was definitely a choice, not an order. Caje glanced at Saunders, worried by the exhaustion he saw in his face. He was actually surprised the sergeant hadn’t keeled over yet. “Thank you, sir. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay.” He ignored Saunders’ surprised look, draining the last of his beer. Before Saunders could start, another officer appeared at the General’s side, bringing the two enlisted men to their feet. The colonel waved them back down. “May I join you?” “Colonel Martin, the sergeant is about to give me a report which I do not want to see in your paper. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir. Very clear.” Pulling out the chair across from the general, Colonel Martin sat down, setting his cup of coffee on the table and pulling out a cigarette. “Colonel Martin, Sergeant Saunders and Private… What is your name, anyway?” “Paul LeMay, sir, but they call me Caje.” “Caje? Why?” “I’m a Cajun from Louisiana, sir.” “Finally, something that makes sense.” Colonel Martin grinned. Caje worked his way through another beer, then a cup of coffee during the hour and a half that the General questioned Saunders. Colonel Martin occasionally asked questions of both men. When the General finally stood up and Colonel Martin left, Caje breathed a silent sigh of relief. He got to his feet, unobtrusively steadying Saunders when he staggered slightly, but the General noticed. “Where are you planning to stay tonight?” Maxwell asked Caje as the private retrieved the weapons and helmets. “I don’t know, sir. We left our packs at your office. We’ll pick them up and find somewhere.” “No, Private. You two will come with me. I may think of more questions.” Extremely relieved to find that they were the last to leave, Caje walked behind Saunders, the sergeant so tired that he didn’t even realize that Caje had hold of his web belt, guiding him. They followed the General down the dark street to a hotel, ignoring the stares as they crossed the lobby to the elevator. The General pretended not to notice when Caje more or less propped Saunders up in the corner, holding him up with his shoulder. When they reached his rooms, the General caught Caje’s eye, looked at Saunders and nodded toward the bedroom. Realizing it was the General’s own bed, Caje shook his head slightly, motioning toward a sofa. “That’s an order, Private.” Maxwell said softly. Shrugging, Caje guided the exhausted man into the bedroom, backed him up to the bed and gently pushed him down. Saunders sat down then went over on his side, out like a light. Caje knelt in front of him and removed his boots, then lifted his legs to the bed. He removed his friend’s web belt and cradled the sleeping man in his arms; Saunders head lolling against his shoulder as he gently started to ease his jacket off, startled when the General moved forward and helped him work Saunders’ limp arms out of the sleeves. They lowered him back to the bed and the General motioned Caje to follow him out of the room. Removing his jacket and his shoes, the General sat down, waving Caje to a seat. “Smoke, if you want, Private.” “Thank you, sir.” “How long since he slept?” “I’m not sure, sir. I would guess he’s had maybe six hours in the last 36.” “What about you?” “The sergeant drove most of the way here, sir. He let me sleep.” “Were you with him before the Landing, Caje?” “Just for a couple weeks while we were holding in England, sir.” “So you don’t know much about him, then?” “Not a lot, sir. He doesn’t talk much. Why do you ask?” “Strictly between us, Private LeMay.” “Yes, sir.” “He’s up for a battlefield commission. With his record, we’re thinking about jumping him to lieutenant.” “You can’t do that to him!” Caje sat bolt upright in dismay. “Why not?” The General asked mildly. “Uh, well, sir, I mean, General…” Caje stammered, suddenly realizing what he’d said. “You obviously think a lot of him, and respect him. Tell me about him.” “He wouldn’t like that, sir.” Caje shook his head. “He won’t know about it, Caje. This is just between you and me. I want to know what makes him tick. You have my word that he will never know anything you tell me.” “Well, sir, he’s a soldier. Not an officer.” Flushing, he stopped. “Go on.” “He understands his men, sir.” He paused, staring at the carpet. He went on softly. “He knows when to push hard and when to, well, be gentle, I guess. He can make you feel a half inch tall without even raising his voice, then turn around and hold you while you cry over losing a buddy. He’ll show a soldier that he can do something he never thought possible. He will hold a replacement in his arms while the poor kid is throwing up his guts over his first kill. He never asks us to do something he won’t, or hasn’t, done. He’s as tough and demanding as they come, but he’s fair. The men would follow him into hell. I guess we have several times, come to think of it. He takes care of his men. I’ve seen him give the last of his water to one of the men, telling him he just had a drink, when he hadn’t taken a drink for hours. Even when he got wounded, he thought of his men before himself, making sure they were okay before he let Doc look at him. Like tonight; he was just as tired, if not more, than me but he drove six hours to my two, letting me sleep. He’s been sent on a mission for six men, and finished it himself, wounded, after his men were killed. He’ll kill a German without hesitation, but it tears him up inside when he loses one of his own. He feels that he failed somehow, when there was nothing anyone but God could do about it.” He stopped abruptly, embarrassed. “If you offered a commission, I think he would refuse it. Sir.” “Did you know he was in North Africa?” “No, sir.” “Italy?” “No, sir.” “Did you know he holds a couple Bronze Stars?” “No, sir.” “What about the three Silver Stars?” “No, sir.” Caje looked somewhat dazed. “At least three Purple Hearts?” “I knew about one, sir. He got it saving my life.” “So you don’t think we should give him a commission?” Caje hesitated, torn between wanting the promotion for his friend, and knowing how Saunders would feel about it. “You don’t have to answer that, son. Hanley said pretty much the same thing.” “He did?” Caje looked relieved. “He did. I assume you’re used to sleeping close. You can share the bed with Saunders or take the couch. Up to you.” “I’ll move him to the couch and sleep on the floor, sir.” “I’m going to the office for another endless round of meetings, Corporal. I’ll have your packs brought over. In the morning, get yourselves cleaned up and meet me at the Officer’s Mess at 0900 for breakfast. There’s a shower through there, with soap and clean towels. If you can get it off him without waking him, drop your uniforms outside the door. They’ll be cleaned and hanging on the inside doorknob when you wake up. I’ll be back late – if I make it back before breakfast at all.” “Thank you very much, General.” Caje stammered, stunned at his generosity. “Private, it’s men like you and that man in there that we generals need to thank.” He said soberly. “I’ll see you in the morning, Caje.” Caje stumbled to his feet as the General shoved his feet into his shoes, picked up his jacket and left the room. After a minute, Caje shook himself and went in and undressed the unresisting sergeant, covering him with a light blanket. As soon as the runner arrived with their bags, he stripped, dropped their uniforms outside the door and stretched out beside Saunders on the wide, soft bed, asleep in minutes. The morning sun in his eyes woke him and he stretched lazily then glanced at his watch. It was nearly 0800. Rolling over, he shook Saunders awake. “Where are we?” Saunders asked, looking around in confusion. “I’ll tell you about it later. The general wants us to meet him in an hour and ten minutes. We gotta shower and shave and get going.” “What happened to my clothes?” Saunders demanded when he threw back the blanket. “Oh. Yeah.” Caje rolled out of bed and walked out of the room, returning with Saunders’ cleaned and pressed uniform on a hanger, grinning at the sergeant’s expression. “Come on, Sarge. The shower’s in there. You go first.” Somewhat bemused, Saunders headed for the shower. Caje quickly took his place as soon as he was finished. “So, are you going to tell me?” Saunders demanded as he shaved. “Tell you what? Oh. That. The General insisted we come back to his place to spend the night. He went back to the office for more meetings, he said. Told us to meet him at the Officer’s Mess for breakfast at 0900.” Saunders stopped shaving and stared at his friend. “Meetings? What time?” “What time? Around 2300, I guess.” Caje shrugged. “Caje, generals don’t have meetings at eleven at night. He gave us his bed and slept somewhere else.” Saunders explained patiently. Shocked and awed at the General’s actions, Caje stared at him with one foot halfway into his pants, nearly falling over. “You’re kidding, aren’t you, Sarge?” “No, Caje, I’m not kidding.” Leaving their gear in the room, Caje and Saunders made it to the Officer’s Mess by 0855, to find the general waiting for them outside. “Sleep well?” He asked, returning their salutes. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Saunders replied. “I’m sorry I took your bed, sir.” “I’m not, Sergeant. You were out on your feet. Come have breakfast with me. Sorry you can’t stay longer, but Hanley asked me to send you back as soon as I could.” “That’s alright, sir. We expected to go right back.” The breakfast was a lot more relaxed than the dinner had been, and the men ate heartily. They parted company with the general outside, returning to his room to retrieve their gear. They found it piled on top of a large box marked First Platoon. Curious, Caje opened it to find several bottles of wine, a huge pile of socks, several cartons of cigarettes, and half a dozen well-wrapped loaves of fresh bread. “Well, maybe the guys will forgive us for going to Paris without them.” Caje grinned. “Not when we get done talking about the women and the food.” Saunders grinned back. “What women? I only saw one.” “They don’t know that, do they? Well, soldier, shall we go back to the real world?” The End |
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